“There’s nothing much I can do about the Portillo kid now,” he continued. “Maybe I was a little hasty but let’s remember, he is the last person to see the victim alive.”
“Other than her killer,” I amended.
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’m going to prove you wrong,” I told him, feeling my oats.
“Listen, pal,” he fired back, “I’m letting it go that you lied to me when I first approached you about the girl’s murder. But I am going to be very clear right here and now — if you pull that again, I am not going to be in a forgiving mood. You learn anything about anyone, you call me first. And if I hear otherwise…”
“There’ll be hell to pay.”
“Fuck off,” he said and hung up on me.
THE SILENT SCREEN
I caught Jeff as he was about to leave the office. By the way he bustled about and didn’t make much effort to actually settle down for a second and speak to me directly, I got the sense he wasn’t in the mood to make much time for me. It wasn’t but a day or two ago that we were best friends, united in our work to bring home his daughter. Now I was the guy with the clipboard out front of the grocery store — if he didn’t make eye contact then he wouldn’t have to stop and sign my petition.
When faced with people in a rush, I have the annoying habit of slowing things down to a glacial pace.
“There was one thing…I, uh, wanted to…talk to you…about.”
“Sure, but I’m in a bit of a rush so if it’s quick, then let’s walk and talk,” he suggested and assumed I would be in agreement because he hurried out of the room before I could answer. I didn’t move from the spot where I was standing and patiently waited for him to come back. It took longer than I expected but he eventually reappeared in the doorway and put on his best annoyed impersonation. “Okay, what is it?”
“Did you ever get ahold of your daughter?” I asked.
“I did not. But I am not sure how that is any of your concern,” he replied, pushing his way into his office and closing the door behind him. “I thought you weren’t helping out on this anymore.”
“So are you and the old man on speaking terms again?” There was no way he could have known that unless they were. My suspicions were confirmed when I looked back at the blank screen where the now-silenced video installation was supposed to be.
“Yes, it’s common that family members talk once in a while,” he said, taking on a snarky tone. Jeff seemed to jump between two personas — the Average Joe from the Valley or the High Society dabbler — depending on his current standing with the old man. By the way he kept addressing me like a servant, I assumed things had been temporarily patched up between them.
“Why the rapprochement?” I asked.
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” he told me again but didn’t make any move to kick me out. “You’re a very aggressive person. And I’m not sure I like it.” He was slipping back into the kid from the Valley.
“How much do you know about what’s going on with your daughter?”
“How much do you know?” he shot back.
“Plenty,” I calmly replied, “She placed the article in the gossip blog.”
I invited myself to one of the chairs and made him listen to all that I learned over the last couple of days, including the connection of the nurse from the convalescent home to the clinic where Jeanette had her baby. He reluctantly sat opposite me and silently listened, though he did check his watch several times to remind me that he was a busy man and had places to go. Jeff didn’t let on whether any or all of what I was telling him was new information.
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“Almost. Have you spoken to Mr. Li lately?”
“No, but I plan to,” he answered.
“I’d like to be there when you do. I have some questions of my own that I want to ask him.” He didn’t acknowledge the request and overall wasn’t as responsive to reasoning as in the past. The reconciliation between him and Valenti was more pronounced than I had originally guessed. “Jeff, it’s time to go to the police. This is no longer an affair of the family. Murder is involved.”
“Trust me, I understand the gravity of the current situation,” he replied non-committedly.
“The number-one goal is to bring your daughter home, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, the best way to do that is to let the authorities help. They have the resources at their disposal. They can cast a net a lot farther and deeper than what you or I can do.”
“Plastering her face all over the news sites?” he asked with a trace of contempt.
“Now is not the time to worry about decorum. That stuff is extremely painful in the short term but it fades a lot faster than you think. If she’s made it this far I think she can handle a little ugliness in the media,” I pressed.
He sort of nodded but something made me wonder if his original misgivings about the publicity were in fear for his daughter’s humiliation or in fear for his own.
“I spoke to the detective assigned to the McIlroy girl’s murder—” I said, but before I could finish, Jeff leaped to his feet, his face a contorted m�lange of orange and red.
“You already went to the police!” he shouted.
“I didn’t have to, they came to me.”
“Well you better not have been telling them anything.”
“Or what?”
“That was not smart,” he lectured.
“You aren’t exactly the epitome of Mensa Society, Jeff. And if you are getting your advice from somewhere, you might want to think twice about the source.” It was a transparent warning that he was being manipulated. Valenti had his hooks back in him but the question was, how deep? “I left out one other detail. Please sit down for two minutes and listen to what I have to say.”
I conveyed my suspicions and growing concerns that Valenti could be the father of Jeanette’s baby. I was careful not to libel myself as I had no real proof but the circumstantial references were starting to point in that direction. And that I was worried that this could quickly escalate.
“That’s outlandish,” he commented without much indignation. If anything, he was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t true. He stared absently at the pile carpet, his right eye blinking methodically as he thought things over. I let him stew in all of the ugly permutations and patiently waited for him to come to their unsatisfactory conclusion.
“Listen, Mr. Restic,” emerged magnanimous Jeff, that condescending creature prone to lecturing. “We can’t let stressful situations lead us to make poor decisions…” It was a drawn out speech of well-meaning but empty words. I smiled politely and thanked him for his time. He graciously walked me to the lobby door, but I refused his extended hand.
The man was a lost cause.
***
I caught Meredith at home. She, too, had effectively been brought back into the family fold but at least she was honest about it. Unlike with her ex-husband there were no high-minded speeches to camouflage her real intentions.
“I’m going with which way the wind is blowing,” she said but it didn’t sound like she was actually happy about it.
“Who’s calling the shots?” I asked. She gave me a look that effectively reprimanded me for a dumb question. “What is he asking you to do?”
“To go along with everything.”
“Which is?”
She smiled. “That wouldn’t be going along with everything.”
“When did you know that Jeanette was pregnant?”
Meredith thought it through and it seemed like she was debating on whether to tell me the truth or not.
“About a month before she ran off,” she finally answered.